Title: And Then There Was One

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'The Times They Are A-Changin' '

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully; Skinner/Scully friendship.

Summary: Skinner is being left behind.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

Author's Note:  I know nothing about F.B.I.'s rules and regulations in regards to employment and transfers and such, so this section is basically fudged. Hope that doesn't take away from the story. I'd like to extend special thanks to both Goddess Michele and Lady Kate who tried to enlighten me--then I went and did what sounded good anyway. 

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE

Monday January 28, 2002

SKINNER:

I looked at the sheet of paper in my hand again, trying to process what I was seeing. The words just didn't make sense to me. . .I felt as if I was reading a foreign language. I looked up at the young woman who had handed it to me; she was sitting in her usual chair, with her usual demeanor--calm, cool, collected. 

Me?  I felt as if I could pass out.

"Sir, are you okay?" she asked with her usual sympathetic voice, a voice I was never going to hear again.

"Fine, agent," I responded, automatically, while feeling anything but. I tried to read the paper again--still no luck. Might've been Swahili for all I knew.

"Skinner--?" she began, concerned. 

I finally placed the letter down on my desk and told her, resolutely, "No. I'm sorry. I can't accept this."

That famous eyebrow shot up practically into her hairline. "You CAN'T accept it?" she squeaked. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," I answered a tad harsher than I intended. This was NOT the way I wanted to start my week.

"Sir. It's a request for reassignment. . ."

"I know what it is!" I snapped out. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I wish to leave the Bureau and go back to Quantico, sir," she explained deliberately, not in the least intimidated by my outburst. "I wanted to tell you personally rather than having it delivered in the interoffice mail."

"Why? Why didn't you come talk to me first?" I barked, in full AD mode now.

She hung her head, almost in embarrassment. "I suppose I should have, sir, but there just wasn't any time. I only got the call about the position Friday night. I agonized over it the whole weekend, and discussed it with Frohike. . ."

I cut her off, angrily, "Frohike? You should have discussed it with me!"

"Excuse me, sir, but Frohike IS my husband," she replied, coolly.

"And I'm nothing--just your hard-assed boss, right?" Oh, man, I was going to be sick.

She looked away for just a split-second before fixing her gaze on me once more and saying, gently, "No, you're much more than that, and you know it, sir. It's just that the teaching position opened up rather suddenly. If I delayed my request too long, there's a good chance the opening would have gotten filled."

Pushing up my glasses, I pinched the bridge of my nose to try to stem the migraine that was already starting. "Jesus, Scully, why do you want to leave? Is it something I did? Is this about your removal from the X-Files?" I asked, exasperated.

"No, not everything is about the X-Files," she sighed softly, and I know I'm shocked by that statement. There was a time she'd NEVER say anything like that. 

"Then is there a problem with Agent Mitchell?" I inquired. "I can get you a new partner in a new department, if you like. I just thought you'd be happy there."

She paused for a moment. "Agent Mitchell is quite a piece of work, sir," she said with a smile. "I'm rather flattered that you teamed him up with me."

Agent Laurence Mitchell was one of the best in the Bureau. He was a newcomer, but one already making his name well known in the agency. He was on the fast track to the top, and would surely bring his partner with him. It had been such an obvious choice to me to team him up with Scully--we all knew she had the tools needed to make Director one day. "Then what's the problem? Personality conflicts?"

"No, we get along fine. He's an exceptional agent. I can see what all the fuss is about."

"Yet, you want to leave," I stated.

"Yes, sir. I've been. . ." She hesitated for a second, trying to pick out the right word, "conflicted. . . about my career for a while now. But this past week finally decided it for me."

I rapidly thought back over the previous seven days, trying to figure out what had distressed Scully so much that she would think of leaving us, but I couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary. The case they had been working on had come to a successful conclusion last Thursday. True, it wasn't under the best of circumstances--a nasty standoff that resulted in the shooting injury of another agent--but the suspect had been apprehended, and was cooling his heels in jail awaiting arraignment. 

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, agent."

"Special Agent Perkins," was all she said.

"The man who was shot? I thought he was doing okay."

"He is. In fact, he was released from the hospital yesterday. Clean in and out through the shoulder. He's going to be in rehab for a while, but he'll be fine."

Shaking my head in confusion, I asked, "Then what's the problem?"

"When Perkins went down, I had this thought flash through my mind that I'd be next," she responded simply. 

I reminded her, "You've faced that situation before, Agent Scully."

"Yes, I have," she agreed. "But not as a mother."

"Ah." I was starting to get the picture.

"I've never been afraid of this job before, sir," she elaborated. "I may have gotten more than I ever signed up for, but I was never afraid of doing what was expected of me. But I'm not just living for myself any longer. I have someone who's depending on me, more than even Mulder did."

I felt the hint of a smile tug at my lips at her subtle dig. "Indeed."

"You know, Frohike told me his mom died when he was just a child, and I don't want that for my son, to grow up without a mother. And I know--I KNOW--that I have no say in that matter. I could get hit by a bus crossing the street, or get killed in a fire or a car accident or," she stopped, her voice catching as she said, "my cancer could come back. I have no control over any of that, but I do have control over the situations I put myself into. And last week was too close. I can't risk my life like that anymore, sir, or the life of my partner. All it would take is a moment's hesitation or a second guess on my part--I hope you understand."

I did. All too well. She was right to be concerned for her partner--no outside distractions could be taken along into the field. Sometimes split-second timing is needed, and any uncertainly could mean disaster. And there was no way I could ask her to put her life on the line again, knowing her little one was waiting for her to come home. I'd never be able to forgive myself if one day she didn't, and it would be all my fault. <That's what happens when you get too close to your agents, Walter,> I scolded myself. <You lose all objectivity.> 

"If you sign the papers today, I can get them up to Kersh and get the ball rolling," she added. "They'd like me to start on Monday."

Monday. Come Monday I was going to lose Scully, and, in effect, my last tangible tie to Mulder. It was selfish of me to want to hold her back, but the thought of coming to work and never seeing either of them again was too much for me to deal with. Giving it one last shot, I told her, "I could get you a desk job here at the Hoover. You wouldn't ever have to go out in the field. A good job--one with a lot of room for promotion."

Her face lit up in appreciation that I would be willing to do everything in my power to keep her there, but gave me a sad little shake of her head. "That's kind of you, sir, but I think it's time for me to move on. I was called up originally to spy on Spooky, after all. And now that he's gone, my work here is done."

"You were one of the best agents I've ever had, Scully. I hate to lose you."

"I hate to leave, but I'm not going far," she insisted. "I'll only be down at Quantico teaching pathology. Maybe the occasional seminar on interrogation techniques." 

"Like how to question a 100 year old hibernating liver-eating mutant?" I joked.

"Hey, someone's gotta teach these green agents, right?" she laughed.

Even as I joined in her humor, I found myself saying, "I'm going to miss working with you, Dana."

"I'll miss you too, sir," she started. "We may not have always seen eye to eye--"

I couldn't help but cut in, "That, my dear, Scully, is an understatement."

It got a laugh, but the slight embarrassed blush that touched her cheeks spoke volumes--I had hit a little too close to home that time. "That's true, sir. There were many times I didn't know which side you were on, many times I questioned your loyalty to us and to the X-Files, but over the years you've proven to be a valuable ally."

"I just wish I could have done more," I whispered, knowing I had let them down so often in the past, forced to play all those pointless political games to keep them alive and their department functioning. Scully, especially, would never know the hoops I jumped through for Spender because he promised me a cure for her cancer. Talk about selling your soul to the devil. But to see her sitting in front of me now--her cancer in remission, happily married, mother to a beautiful little boy--it had all been worth it. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"You did all you could, and then some, sir," she assured me, almost as if she could read my mind. "There were times you went way beyond the call of duty, and certainly beyond F.B.I. procedure. And we barely even thanked you."

"No thanks were needed," I replied gruffly, my voice raw with emotions I didn't want to acknowledge. "Just doing my job."

"If you say so, sir," she smiled, humoring me, even as unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. "But if I may say, it was an honor to work with you--and a privilege to have you in our corner." With that, she stood up gracefully, and walked over to my side of my desk. I held out my hand, expecting a polite but remote handshake, as was Scully's M.O. But she surprised me by instead leaning down and tenderly kissing me on my right cheek. Before I could recover, she backed up a step, dipped her head in a silent 'good-bye' nod, and walked out of my office, leaving me alone.

And suddenly she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes.

Friday, February 1, 2002

DANA:

The going away party was short and sweet and a total surprise. I had been called up to see Skinner under the pretense of one final debriefing, only to find Doggett, Reyes, Kim, Agent Mitchell, and numerous co-workers and well-wishers crammed into his office. It had always looked quite cavernous before, but with so many people, there was barely room to breathe.

Many had brought food and drink, almost all had brought gifts. No big speeches, no major toasts, no declarations of my dedication to the Bureau--just lots of people shaking my hand, kissing my cheek, and wishing me luck. The outpouring of true affection was gratifying, but I couldn't help feeling a stab of resentment, knowing that when Mulder had been sent packing, he received none of this. My former partner had almost given his life for the F.B.I. and was repaid with nothing more than a kick in the cahones. Still, whenever I began to dwell on it, another colleague would come over to give me a hug and wish me all the best.

Ninety minutes later, not a soul could be found except for Skinner and myself. I looked around at the battlezone that was his office, sighed, and began cleaning up. "Scully? What are you doing?"

"Sir?" I asked, holding a stack of dirty paper plates. 

"Let custodial services take care of that."

"But. . ."

"That's an order, agent."

I had to smile at that. "I'm not an agent any more, sir, and you're not my boss."

"And it's not like you ever followed orders anyway, right?" he added with a sly grin.

"I did SOMETIMES," I shot back. "It's not MY fault Agent Mulder was such a bad influence!"

He came over to me and took the plates from my hands, placing them back down on the conference table. "Don't worry about it, Scully. Come here--I have something for you." And placing one of his huge hands between my shoulder blades, he led me away from the table and propelled me towards his desk. Opening one of the bottom drawers, he pulled out a small brightly wrapped box. "I didn't want to give it to you with everyone here."

"Oh, sir--you really shouldn't have," I told him, quite touched by the gesture.

<He's blushing! I made my big, huge, macho boss blush! This is a moment to treasure.> "It's nothing much--just a little something to remember me by."

I eagerly unwrapped it, to find. . ."A mug." Disappointed and ungrateful. <Nice going, Dana!> "Ah, thank you, sir."

If he heard the flat tone of my voice, he didn't say anything. "When you put hot liquid in it, little flying saucers appear. See?" he pointed to the box. "It was either that or the glow in the dark Marvin the Martian boxer shorts."

"Save those for when Mulder comes back," I joked, glad that he had shown a BIT of restraint in the gift exchange.  

His sparkling chocolate-brown eyes took on a haunted, hollow appearance. "IF Mulder comes back," he sighed.

I placed my hand on his forearm, so small against his massive bulk. "He will, sir. I know he will. Someday. When he's ready."

He looked down at me, a sad little smile on his face. "I hope you're right, Scully." 

Throwing caution to the wind, I wrapped my arms around his waist, and gave him a hug. "Thank you for the party, sir, and the mug. But truthfully, I'd have a hard time ever forgetting you."

"I know the feeling," he murmured, returning the hug with gusto. "I'm really going to miss you, Dana. I'm not just losing my best agent, but my best friend."

"Skinner!" I scolded, even as I felt my cheeks flush. <If I was his best friend, then the poor man was in worse shape than I thought.> "I'm not moving to the North Pole! You're more than welcome to stop by the apartment--our door's always open."

The look he gave me was full of gratitude. "Thank you. I might have to take you up on that. But only if you call me Walter."

"Walter." I tested it out. It felt so weird on my tongue, sounded so strange to my ears. But I found myself smiling, "I like that."

++++++++++++

"You're late." 

<Oh, no. PLEASE tell me we weren't going to go through THAT again!?> "I know. I'm sorry," I sighed, giving my standard reply. 

"Another hot date with Dr. Bug-zino?"

I couldn't help chuckling. Frohike STILL hadn't gotten over that little incident. "Noooo--they threw me a surprise 'going away' party. I didn't have time to call you." I wandered into the kitchen where Frohike was sitting alone at the table, open pizza box at hand. Well, at least I didn't ruin one of his meals this time. "Where's William?" I asked. 

"Put him down for a nap," he explained. "Langly wore him out playing today. . . or maybe it was the other way around." He paused as his eyes landed on the two huge shopping bags I was carrying. "What are those?" he asked, pointing with a slice of pizza.

Dropping the very heavy bags on the floor, I answered, "My gifts."

He let out a long, impressed whistle. "Man, looks like you hit the mother lode, huh?"

"You can say that again." I took a seat opposite him and gestured to the box. "Any of that for me?"

He pushed it over to me. "Knock yerself out. Ah, mind if I. . .?" The sentence dropped off as he nodded to the bags.

"Knock yerself out," I echoed, snagging a slice of pizza. 

He wiped his hands on a couple of napkins, and handed a few to me while he was at it. Then, nimbly balancing on the back legs of his chair, he reached behind him, and opened the door to the fridge; somehow without looking inside, he managed to retrieve a can of Diet Coke, which he then passed over to me. Noting that I was now settled with dinner, he went about digging through the bags, pulling out my 'going away' trinkets.

They ranged from the silly, like a child's F.B.I. kit (including fake handcuffs, plastic gun and phony badge) to the useful (Mo and Doggett had chipped in and gotten me a new leather briefcase) to the numerous X-File jokes (a UFO screensaver and mousepad, pencils topped with little alien-head erasers, a 'Nessie' beanie-baby, a Roswell bumper sticker, etc.) He was enjoying them all when he happened upon the mug Skinner had gotten me. "Oh, wow, these mugs are so cool," he told me. "Ever see one in action?"

"No, I can't say that I have," I admitted. 

"Wait 'til you see this!" He opened the box and pulled the mug out to give me a demonstration, only to find it stuffed with tissue paper. As he removed the tissue paper, something fell into his lap. I saw him pick it up, but was too busy trying to swipe a helpless pepperoni slice from one of the remaining pieces of pizza to notice what it was. "Ah, Dana. . ." he asked, hesitantly, "who gave you this mug?"

My mission successful, I was popping the slice into my mouth when I responded, "Skinner--why?"

"Did he also give you what was IN the mug?" he inquired, curiously. 

"I didn't know there WAS anything in the mug," I confessed. "In fact, I didn't even open the box."

"I. . .I think you should see this." Having said that, he passed over a small blue velvet square envelope to me. I looked at it, mystified, before opening it and looking inside. When a glimmer of gold greeted me, I tipped the envelope upside down and dumped out its contents into my hand.

I stared at it for a full minute, trying to sort out my feelings, unable to believe what I was holding. It was a beautiful, delicate gold claddagh necklace, with a heart-shaped emerald at its center. I was so caught up in my emotions, I barely saw the tiny card that had slipped from the envelope along with the necklace. Picking it up, I saw that it was a short legend explaining the meaning of the claddagh, with the hands symbolizing friendship, the heart representing love, and the crown signifying loyalty.   

Friendship, love, and loyalty--three things I've questioned of Skinner's character for years. Three things he now gave to me freely, no strings attached.

"Damn you, Walter," I cursed softly under my breath as the tears started and refused to stop. Next thing I knew, the necklace was being removed from my trembling hand, and my cordless phone had replaced it.

I looked up at Frohike questioningly. He simply asked, "Do you need his number?"

"No," I blubbered, watching as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone. The man could be almost as spooky as Mulder, the way he intuitively knew me inside and out. It took me a couple of minutes to work up the courage to make the call. I dialed the number by memory, my heart coming into my throat when I hear his familiar deep voice. "Hi, Walter?" I choked out. "It's Dana. . ."

THE END